Round Robin
by RascalJoy
Summary: In which Jason is a troll and everyone (sorta) rolls with it. "Dude, you're so old," Jason scoffed. "You're like 75." "Well, if I'm 75, how old are you?" Dick countered. Jason smirked. "Thirty-two." "What! You're only four years younger than me, not 43!" (Celebrating 75 years of Robin.)


**A/N** : This is an idea that sprouted back in March, actually, to celebrate this being the 75th year of our dear Robin(s). Finally finished it XD

It also serves the double purpose of celebrating Batman Day today! Yay! (Hence why I finally finished it. Lol.)

 **IMPORTANT:**

So the idea here is Jason starts mocking people about their "true ages" which just so happens to coincide with how many years it's been since each of their very first comic appearances as Robin (hence why Damian is so young). Basically how many years it's been since they were first Robin. I'm sorry, but I didn't include Steph because I'm not exactly sure about how to write her yet.

Enjoy the brobonding and overall fluffiness! ;D

* * *

On the rare occasions when all four Robins found their way to Wayne Manor at the same time, the illusion of cold silence and majesty in the massive rooms and halls was always shattered in some way or another by the end of the day—usually multiple times.

Currently, the oldest three of said Robins had holed themselves up in the den, Dick sprawled upside down in the single plush armchair, Jason contentedly stretched out on the floor, and Tim curled in a tight ball on the couch, laptop perched precariously on his knees and bottom lip captured in his teeth as he tapped frantically at the keyboard.

A half-eaten plate of chocolate chip cookies and (at least in Tim's case) a mug of lukewarm coffee sat on the thick, short table before the couch within easy reach of all three members of the household. At least, that was the intent.

"Jason!" Dick sulked, hand scrabbling on the tabletop where the plate of cookies had been seconds before. "Scoot them closer!"

Smirking, Jason nibbled daintily at the edge of one of his prizes. "What do you say, Dickiebird?"

"Please!"

Jason seemed to consider. "How about...no. I have commandeered these cookies. They're now mine, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it."

And it was true. No matter how much Dick contorted and stretched in his seat, the edge of the plate was just that much farther than his groping fingers could reach. He also suspected Jason was subtly moving it farther and farther away the closer he got.

Dejectedly, he sagged, head now lying on the coffee table and butt balanced precariously on the edge of the chair cushion. "Come on, Jay," Dick pleaded. "I'm older than you, and as such I order you to give me cookies!"

"Nope," Jason popped, sucking the melted chocolate off his fingers with exaggerated verve.

A moment later, Dick lunged, triumphantly seizing one of the precious cookies before Jason could react and jerking upright in his chair.

"Ha!" he gloated, flipping around in his seat to grin at the younger. "I—"

Jason was already in the air. "Beauty before age, Dickie," Jason chided, snatching the cookie from his predecessor's hand and somersaulting back to his original spot.

Dick scowled, his eyebrows furrowing. "Okay, first of all, it's _age_ before _beauty_. And second of all, I'm not _that_ much older than you, Jay."

Jason grinned cheekily, stuffing the captured cookie in his mouth. "I beg to differ, ' _Oldie_. Even Bruce agrees with me, _old chum_."

Exasperated, Dick glanced at Tim for any sign of support. The youngest in the room, however, appeared completely oblivious to the current drama unfolding around him. Although, his laptop appeared to be suspiciously close to his face, his eyes crinkled slightly and twinkling over the top of the screen...

"Dude, you're so old," Jason continued, distracting Dick from his observation as crumbs sprayed from the corners of his mouth. "You're like 75."

Dick's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "I'm _75_?!"

"Give or take a few months," Jason conceded. "I still don't know when your birthday is." Which was a complete lie, but Dick didn't need to know that.

A pout played at the corners of the eldest's mouth. "Well, if I'm 75, how old are you?" he countered.

Jason flipped his bangs up, fingering his grey streak as he smirked at the elder. "Thirty-two."

Dick's jaw dropped. " _What?!_ How's that... You're only like, _four_ years younger than me, not 43! That's not fair!"

An unabashed grin appeared on the second Robin's face. "All's fair in age and war."

" _Love_ and war," Tim corrected this time, his fingers never pausing in their typing. "All's fair in love and war."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Sherlock." Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Hey, Replacement. How old are you?"

That finally caused the third Robin to pause. Eyebrows furrowing, he looked up at his predecessor. "Uh... Seventeen. Why?"

Cue sarcastic eye roll. "No, how _old_ are you," Jason repeated slowly, as if talking to a toddler. "If Dickie's 75 and I'm 32, how old are you?"

Tim frowned slightly, seeming to consider his answer. "Twenty-six."

Dick spluttered indignantly. _"Why?!"_

Tim, unaware of Dick's gaping mouth, explained, "Well, I'm younger than Jason, and I'm definitely younger than you. Since it's a free-for-all, why not 26? I'll finally be a legal adult, have my second license, be past drinking age, and be out of college with a job."

"You already have a job," Jason pointed out, eyeing the Wayne Enterprises paperwork that practically buried the kid from view on the couch.

Tim shrugged. "I suppose. I meant a real one."

Jason opened his mouth to protest that running a multimillion dollar company was a _little_ more than a real job, but Dick chose that moment to finally speak up: "But...why do I have to be 75?" he whined, a pout forming on his handsome features.

"Because you're the oldest," Jason said gleefully. "Duh."

"Being the oldest does not by definition make me _old_ ," Dick protested. "I'm still in my 20s for crying out loud!"

"Sure," Tim murmured, "just like you've been performing aerial somersaults since before you could walk."

"I _heard_ that!"

"You know, I could swear I heard your joints creaking during patrol last night," Jason said conversationally. "Age finally catching up to you, eh, Dickie _bald_?"

"Jason, I swear if you don't _shut your mouth_ —"

"Even Alfred has more spring in his step than you," Jason continued, undeterred and green-tinged eyes sparkling. "Of course, he's only 72, so that's to be expected..."

The acrobat lunged for the smirking marksman, catching him in the stomach and sending them both tumbling to the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs. Tim merely raised an eyebrow, lifting his feet and laptop out of the way as strangled grunts issued from the men below him.

"What are you imbeciles doing?" came a young, exasperated voice from the doorway.

Immediately, the scuffling ceased, three pairs of wide blue eyes (one embarrassed, one bright with suppressed laughter, and one mildly amused) glanced up to see Damian planted in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the two men sprawled in a heap on the floor, Tim perched on the couch with his feet up to avoid the tangled bodies.

"Er, nothing, Li'l D," Dick said quickly, climbing off Jason and brushing his clothes off in a vain attempt at nonchalance.

"We're discussing the proper ages of various members of the family," Jason said simply, grinning almost maniacally up at the child from where he lay on his back on the carpet. "I'm 32, Dickie's 75, and Timbo here's apparently 26."

Damian frowned. "What kind of idiocy is taking place inside your head right now, Todd?"

"Hey," Jason snapped, "it wasn't even my idea in the first place."

"Yes, it was," Dick and Tim chorused simultaneously.

"Traitors," Jason grumbled.

"I swear the combined intelligence of humanity drops when the three of you are all in the same room," Damian reported pompously. "As I do not wish to be affected by such incompetence, I shall take my leave." He turned in the doorway, intent on doing just that.

"What about the demon?" Tim interjected suddenly, causing the younger boy to pause. "How old does that make him?"

"Oh, Damian?" Jason scoffed. "That little brat's maturity level is about half his real age. Let's go with six."

Whirling around, Damian glared daggers and katanas at the undeterred Hood. "I beg your pardon, _Todd_ ," he sneered, "but I am far more mature at 12 than any of you infants _ever_ will be."

Jason waggled his eyebrows. "Wanna bet?"

With a snarl, Damian leapt at the older man, teeth bared and claws (er, fingers) extended to tear Jason to pieces.

"Whoa!" Dick cried, catching the flying 12-year-old and clutching (restraining) the struggling boy against his chest. "Everybody calm down. There's no need to attack anyone."

Jason gave a strangled choke. "Are you freaking _kidding_ me you _hypocri_ —"

Dick casually elbowed the man in the stomach, knocking the air from Jason's lungs. Leaving his brother gasping in a ball on the floor, Dick wrestled past Tim and the coffee table to plop back on the armchair, arranging Damian on his lap and brightly holding out a certain white ceramic plate. "Cookie?"

Grudgingly, Damian accepted.

"Foul," Jason wheezed from his knees on the ground. "I call foul."

"All's fair in age and war," Dick mimicked around a mouthful of cookie.

Damian frowned. "What does a butchered metaphor have to do with—"

"Have another cookie, Dami," Dick suggested, stuffing one into the youngest's mouth.

Before Damian managed to swallow down enough of the unexpected treat to properly form the curses spewing like crumbs from his mouth, Dick brightened as he recognized a familiar shadow lurking just outside the doorway.

"Hey, Bruce!" Dick called cheerfully, noticing Jason freeze on the floor below him out of the corner of his eye. "We were just discussing how old you have to be to have full rights to the cookies."

There was a short pause.

"I see," Bruce said slowly, stepping out of the shadows and further into the room. "I didn't know you had to be a certain age to eat Alfred's cookies."

"You don't," Dick agreed. "Jason here..." He glared at the younger man, who smiled goofily and waggled his fingers in Bruce's direction. "Decided it would be hilarious to label everyone with their 'proper' age."

"Which is utterly ridiculous," Damian piped up. "He's labeled as me as a pathetic, mewling 6-year-old. I demand compensation for this insult in the form of a horse, father."

"Er...maybe later," Bruce agreed as he picked up the newspaper from the floor by the couch, earning a shared look and eye roll from the two middle children.

Bruce stood, almost absently ruffling Tim's hair. (Tim started in surprise, but the hand left almost as quickly as it had arrived.)

Suddenly, Jason straightened, eyes glinting mischievously. "Hey, B. Theoretically, if I'm 32, Timmy's 26, and Dickiebird's 75, how old would you be?"

Bruce paused for a moment, unmoving as his sons watched him with baited breath. "Seventy-six," he said finally. Then, paper tucked under his arm and last cookie in hand, he strode from the room.

There was a short silence.

"Well, that's creepy," Jason muttered. "Is it even legal for a 1-year-old to—"

"Not another word, Jason," Dick hissed out of the corner of his mouth. "Not. Another. _Word_."


End file.
